Namjoon hates his father's shiny new family, especially his younger stepbrother Jungkook. Too perfect not to hate, too hot not to want. What happens when they have the house to themselves?
It was a Saturday afternoon and for the first time in the two years since he'd moved in with his father to be closer to his chosen university, Namjoon had the house to himself. He never thought, back when he'd been an introverted only child living with his hard-working single mother, that he'd miss the quiet so complete every footfall on the stairs echoed hollowly off the walls. He never thought as an awkward, achingly lonely teen that he'd miss solitude.
God, it was heaven though. No childish laughter as his younger half-siblings tore through the house like tiny hurricanes. The absence of his new stepmother's usually pleasant voice shouting after the twin terrors with harried exasperation. His father's deep voice booming authoritatively from the study he retreated to almost every night (even though it was his compulsive work ethic, physical withdrawal and emotional absence that had slowly poisoned his first marriage) insisting the two girls listen to their mother. No Jungkook.
Effortless Jungkook who made everything seem easy. Shy, reserved Jungkook who still managed to be wildly popular. Polite, considerate Jungkook that left adults fawning. Handsome, sensual Jungkook that had panties dropping. Sweet, modest Jungkook who hid a sinfully muscular body behind baggy clothes and a deceptively cute smile. Jungkook who dominated Namjoon's every waking thought and drove him to distraction. Jungkook who was blissfully unaware of the affect he had on him.
Finally, it felt like he could breathe. He didn't have to squeeze himself into the mould that had been built for him for as long as he could remember. Bookish, quiet Namjoon. Respectful, hardworking Namjoon. Get good grades. Get into the right school. Become a doctor, a lawyer, an engineer, a professor, a physicist. It all amounted to the same message. Keep your head down. Keep your feet on the ground and your head out of the clouds. Draw inside the lines. Don't make waves.
How many times had he heard that his music was a hobby, not a career? So, he'd taken those dreams and set them aside. He stopped nurturing that sliver of hope and buckled down. He'd been the obedient son, the dutiful student. But they just wouldn't wither and die, no matter how he neglected them. And slowly, parts of the real Namjoon began to slip through the cracks.
And it had all started with Jungkook.
He remembered the exact moment he'd stopped viewing the younger boy as just an annoying kid who lived with his father. A part of the bubble of resentment he had for the new, better family his father had found while Namjoon and his mother languished in poverty, exhaustion and misery. He was too perfect not to hate. Too good at everything Namjoon had to struggle to achieve. Too pretty, too popular, too nice, too sincere, too loved. He made Namjoon sick with envy.
And one day seventeen year old Namjoon been in the kitchen of his father's shiny new house, surrounded by his shiny new family, trying not to overtly clench his jaw while the impossibly perfect Jungkook regaled them with the tale of his latest accomplishment. His fingers twitched with the effort it took not to curl into tight, angry fists and plough into Jungkook's toothpaste smile, cut up those pretty doll lips against those cute bunny teeth. His eyes had narrowed on the younger boy's mouth and God, he wanted to hurt him, punish him for being everything Namjoon wasn't.
Because there had been something else he was hiding from his stern, unyielding father and already exhausted and overwhelmed mother. Another way he failed to live up to their ridiculously high standards. And as he stared at Jungkook, jealousy and rage crawling beneath his skin like ants, he'd become aware of just how handsome the boy actually was. How wide and pretty his dark eyes were. How high and symmetrical his cheekbones were. How smooth his jawline was. How naturally pink his lips were. He noticed the perfect cupids bow of the top lip, the pouty fullness of the lower. Even his nose, which should have been too big, too wide, seemed in perfect proportion. And Namjoon's hormone-flooded teenage body had added lust to the already volatile feelings he harboured for him.
